I went to Turkey Run State Park and had a long lunch followed by an equally long talk with my cousins out on the lawn under the trees. We avoided the walnut ones – no one wanted a real knock on the head.

It was good – a lot of things were talked about face to face, topics ranging from today to decades ago.

I stayed with my cousin Susie in Attica, which is some 25 miles north of Kingman where my dad is buried. So this morning, when I got in my car in the dark, I thought, “Should I drive down and visit the grave?” About a half hour down, and a half hour back to the starting point and how much time there? And what would I do? Look at the morning grass and the tombstone and say, “I love you, Daddy.”

Part of me really wanted to go, but part of me knew my Dad would say: But you have to be home early today; you have obligations, and I’m not really here, you know.

And so I did the sensible thing, but that doesn’t stop me from crying irrational tears. Daddy, I will always love you.